Shock!. Donald Ph.D. Ladew

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СКАЧАТЬ It had been very bad when Gilbert's father died, but even that had passed.

      His mind began to work. Trained to sift fact from supposition, the real from the hopeful, his thoughts went to the telegram.

      It said, 'your mother is dead'. It did not say how or why. He would start there.

      He told the taxi driver he changed his mind and gave him an address in Century City.

      "I'll have a little chat with the lawyer, Mr. Eavers."

      The offices occupied one whole floor of the Occidental Building. They were plush, real wood paneling, not the usual pressed fiber and plastic. The receptionist was pretty in a superficial way.

      "May I help you, Mr.?" she asked.

      "Piers, Gilbert Austin Piers. Yes, I want to see Mr. Eavers, please."

      She frowned. "Do you have an appointment?" She obviously didn't approve of this gaunt-faced, unshaven stranger.

      "No, miss, I don't. I've just arrived from Turkey. Just give him my name please; I'm sure he'll see me." His voice was soft, polite, and distant.

      "I'm sorry, Mr. Piers. If you haven't an appointment...he really is a very busy man." She thumbed through an appointment book. "I think I can fit you in next week? If you'd care to tell me what it's about?"

      Gilbert looked at her patiently for a long minute while she became increasingly uncomfortable.

      "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

      "Miss," he looked at her more directly. "Go and tell Mr. Eavers that Mr. Piers is here to see him. Don't use the phone. You go and tell him personally. Do it now!" He hadn't raised his voice, but tone and intention were unmistakable.

      She hesitated only an instant, got up and hurried out of the reception area toward a large door with a brass plaque that said, Partners.

      It didn't take long. He came through the door like a fullback charging the line. Gilbert knew the type: USC, athlete, the right fraternities. Now he drank too much, claimed to be on a first name basis with Hollywood producers, had a mistress and a mortgage that were slowly killing him.

      He had short, dark-blonde hair combed to hide male-pattern baldness, a pulpy, rounded nose damaged by whiskey and he smiled as though Gilbert was his best friend.

      "So glad to meet you, Gil, may I call you Gil? I feel like a member of the family. Awfully sorry to meet under these circumstances, fella." His handshake was pure Hollywood, like his smile, as sincere as a mortician. Still gripping Gilbert's hand, he moved toward the door to his office.

      Gilbert didn't move and though Eavers outweighed him by seventy-five pounds and stood six inches taller, he had the sudden sensation of having grabbed hold of a large block of cement. He let go of Gilbert's hand and made sounds of confusion.

      Gilbert looked at him as something diseased that had crawled from beneath a wet rock. He set aside his decision to question the man. Better to have someone less...involved handle it.

      "Before you do or say anything, Mr. Eavers, let's be clear about a few things. You may not call me Gil. You will call me Mr. Piers. You are not a member of my family nor are you ever likely to become one. You are obviously not the slightest bit sorry about my mother; your telegram made that plain. I want nothing from you except to get a set of keys to my mother's house. My own were misplaced."

      Eavers began to speak and Gilbert held up his hand. "No, Eavers, you're not listening. Get me a set of keys to the house."

      "Well, I don't know if I can do that, Mr. Piers, after all..."

      Gilbert raised a tired eyebrow and walked over to the secretary's desk.

      "Excuse me." She backed away from the desk.

      He took bills from his pocket and without looking at them and tossed them on her desk.

      "For a telephone call," he said, looking steadily at Eavers.

      He called an old friend from his university days at Cal Tech. They'd been engineering students together, and then his friend had gone on to study patent law.

      It rang for a moment while Gilbert stared at Eavers whose mouth worked like a trout thrown up on the sand. A secretary put him through right away.

      "George, this is Gilbert Piers. I've just got in from Turkey, no, hold on, George, just listen! My mother died, I don't know anything about it yet. I don't want to keep the firm that has been taking care of things. I am not pleased with their attitude.

      "Yes, this is a formal request. I'll send a retainer tomorrow. I want you to get every piece of paper having to do with my family from this office today: Everything, George. If there is any suggestion that anything, even a note scribbled on a pad of paper is missing, let me know and we'll take steps to acquire it. You'll have access to the accountant's files that should help. I have asked Mr. Eavers for a set of keys to the house and he seems reluctant to give them to me. Will you straighten him out?"

      Gilbert handed the phone to Eavers, who stood through the whole conversation trying to figure out how things could have gotten so far out of control. He just wanted to make sure he was in charge of things, like he'd been with the old woman. This wasn't supposed to happen.

      The lawyer on the other end of the line made a few suggestions, which made Eaver’s fingers twitch and a fine sheen of alcoholic sweat pop out on the bridge of his nose and upper lip. He handed the phone back.

      "Gilbert? Good, he'll get you the keys. I take it you think something's rotten down there?" George said.

      "Yes, very rotten." Gilbert, looking directly at Eavers, didn't elaborate.

      "Okay, you go along to the house, I'll be by in an hour or so with some papers which will give me the authority I need. I've told Eavers to have everything ready by the end of the day. Do you want me to do an audit of his work and the finances?" George asked.

      "Yes, George," he glanced at the sweating lawyer, "yes, you do a very thorough audit; legal and financial."

      "Got it: See you soon, Gilbert." He handed the phone to the secretary. "It never hurts to be nice, Miss. If the money doesn't cover the phone, send me a bill."

      "Look, please, Mr. Piers, surely this is all a mistake. I'm sure this can all be sorted out..." Eavers was falling apart.

      "The keys, Mr. Eavers, now, please. I'm tired, I want to go home and have a bath. Any future conversation between you and me will be through my lawyer. Do not make any mistakes about what I want."

      Eavers wasn't charging the line when he went back to his office for the keys. It had been a bad day for USC. He brought out the keys. Gilbert took them and left the office without a word.

      Chapter 4

      Real news is bad news

      —Marshall McLuhan

      As the cab moved up Vermont Avenue across Los Feliz, Gilbert felt none of the excitement of the past, just an ache that wouldn't let up.

      From the front, the house looked the same except the lawns, which needed work. The СКАЧАТЬ